


better on the floor

by cryromantic



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: But only if you squint, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, Suggestive Themes, Uniform Kink, they're going to bang but i was too tired to write it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28021551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryromantic/pseuds/cryromantic
Summary: While rummaging around in Dimitri's things, Sylvain finds the king's old lord get-up. Dimitri puts it on again.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	better on the floor

**Author's Note:**

> For the #dimivainanniversary event being run over on the @SylvitriStash account.
> 
> The prompt was 'confessions.'
> 
> I just think it's neat when they're being cute and a little horny.

“I always thought you looked good in it.”

It wasn’t meant as a request. Sylvain only spoke his mind. Dimitri  _ did _ look damn good in that flashy Lord getup. Still, it was only a passing comment. He had been rummaging around in Dimitri’s things—as is the sacred rite of being betrothed—when he found it. The old uniform folded neatly, but forgotten, and waiting in a dusty trunk. The smell of musty old fabric clings to it and there are wrinkles everywhere, but it's still as regal as Sylvain remembers it.

Even so, it wasn’t his intention to get Dimitri to wear it. But if he’s learned anything regarding his fiancé these last few years, it’s this: Dimitri is eager to please and lives for praise. Maybe Sylvain shouldn’t have been surprised, considering the way Dimitri followed him like a puppy when they were children.

This is probably his fault for admitting that, yes, he did imagine ravishing Dimitri while he wore the uniform. On more than one occasion. There was hardly a pause for a full breath before Dimitri all but snatched the jacket from his hands and marched to their washroom. All with that same look of stubborn determinedness that he always has when he makes up his mind. That and he might be feeling the ale from dinner.

It isn’t like Sylvain is complaining about it. He’d be a liar if he said he wasn’t waiting in his favorite chair—the one closest to the fireplace—and feeling vaguely excited. Maybe a little hard too, but that’s only because they’ve been so busy lately. No time for just themselves, that’s all. 

This isn’t the first time it’s occurred to him that he must have it bad for his oldest friend. Obviously. Or they wouldn’t be engaged. Sylvain is still getting used to it. Settling into the skin of someone who is settled down. The fa ç ade of a person whose life is coming together. Even so, he’s come a long way if the mere thought of someone changing their clothes for him gets him going. Then again, Dimitri has always been talented at unraveling Sylvain.

So here he is, alone and waiting while picking at the fraying threads sticking from the armrests. He pulls and pulls until a thread comes free, leaving them in the neatest line he can manage upon the tea-table. Then starts all over again. He's up to five now and the king has yet to emerge.

Whatever is taking so long, Dimitri is making a bigger racket than is necessary. Sylvain hears him talking to himself as he struggles to put the uniform on again. There is also the occasional clatter of something being knocked from their counter to the floor. The maids will think they’ve been at it in the washroom again. Which isn't a bad idea. Perhaps he’ll talk Dimitri into fulfilling that particular prophecy in the morning. Or in the next few minutes, if he doesn't come out of there soon.

“Need a hand?” calls Sylvain. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and tilts an ear toward the door.

“No,” comes the muffled reply.

Sylvain nods to himself as the sound of yet more things crashing to the ground disrupts the otherwise quiet atmosphere of their chambers. Well, he’ll give it a few more minutes. 

The cushions welcome him back, caressing his body just right. He starts on another thread and thinks it’ll be a real shame when they’ll finally have to get this chair refurbished. Just as the fabric gives up another long thread, Sylvain hears the long creak of the door opening. He glances up meeting Dimitri’s face. And nothing else, since he is doing his damndest to blend in with the doorframe.

“It doesn’t fit quite right anymore,” he says, in hushed tones. As if someone else besides Sylvain were here to witness this moment. Dimitri flashes a sheepish smile and Sylvain’s heart does that same flip-flop it always does when that happens.

“So… Did you put it on?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Can I… Can I  _ see  _ it?”

Dimitri nods then his head disappears.

Oh, but then, Dimitri steps out. Posture straight as Areadbhar’s shaft. Shoulders set in a line that could rival the shores of Bridgid. And, of course, his waist, his waist,  _ his waist _ , accentuated by form-fitting fabric and splashes of wondrous colors. Sylvain sincerely hopes the tailor who made this is alive and well. He’s going to send the genius gold. More gold than they’ll know what to do with.

“Well?” asks Dimitri, his shoulders drooping a little. “I know it’s probably not what you had in mind. I did try my best to do the buttons, at least.”

“The what?” Sylvain blinks back into the moment. Now that the initial surprise has worn off, he sees the little imperfections. Dimitri’s jacket is taut against his chest, leaving nothing to the imagination. The buttons are straining too, stretching the fabric and threatening to pop right open. It probably took all of Dimitri’s concentration not to just rip them off as he got dressed. These things are not problems so much as they are a delight to the eye.

“Will you say something?”

“I am.” Sylvain’s gaze travels down Dimitri’s body. “Going to say a lot of things. Come here?”

Dimitri obeys and Sylvain’s lips stretch into a giddy grin. Once his betrothed is close enough to touch, Sylvain reaches out. He goes for the waist first. There was a time he could nearly encircle it with his hands, but not so much anymore.

The jacket is smooth under his hands. Not as thick as he would have thought. Sylvain presses his palms against the curve of Dimitri’s waist. He swears he can feel the warmth of the skin beneath. Sylvain feels the jerk of Dimitri’s body as he sucks in a breath.

“You still look good in it,” insists Sylvain. He runs his hands upwards, soaking in the way Dimitri twitches and shifts beneath his touch.

“Of course you think so,” Dimitri replies, voice teasing. But his face gives him away. His cheeks are tinged as pink and delicate as roses. Sylvain has always maintained that flustered is a good look on Dimitri.

“Because it’s true,” sniffs Sylvain as he taps his fingertips against Dimitri’s stomach. He pauses. “I’ll show you.”

“Oh?”

Sylvain hums and withdraws his hands. He looks up at Dimitri for a while, considering. Seconds tick by, and the king fidgets like a schoolboy. Sylvain leans backs, spreading his knees a little. 

“Take those off.” Sylvain indicates Dimitri's tights with a wave of his hand.

Another stab of arousal strikes his navel and he sits stock still as Dimitri obeys. Sylvain watches with rapt attention as Dimitri slowly pushes his tights down his thighs. He’s making a little show of it, even without being told to.

“That’s it,” murmurs Sylvain.

Dimitri grips one of Sylvain’s shoulders to balance himself as he pulls free from one leg, then the other. He kicks the tights away then smiles down at Sylvain, seeking approval. The soft orange light from their fireplace illuminates his features, his hair shining and eye bright. Even the blind one is more mirthful than usual.

“Good boy. Now sit," demands Sylvain, patting his lap.

Long gone are the days of hesitation. The slow coaxing and gentle words from the earliest days of their relationship are replaced by eager compliance and total trust.

The king takes his throne. Dimitri settles, his knees bracketing Sylvain's hips. He loops his arms around Sylvain's neck, fingers already sneaking into his hair. That's fine. Sylvain enjoys having it played with.

Honestly, he's almost giddy as he reaches under Dimitri's jacket to grab a handful.


End file.
